


bloom

by MissSunFlower94



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone owns shops on the same block like this is a 2012 avengers fanfic, F/F, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: There’s a tattoo parlor opening up under Hamid’s tailor shop.
Relationships: Azu/Sasha Racket, Background, Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom/Zolf Smith, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan & Azu, Sasha Racket & Zolf Smith
Comments: 33
Kudos: 59





	1. Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

> big enormous thanks to j_whirl44 for letting me play in this sandbox 
> 
> this got away from me...

There’s a tattoo parlor opening up under Hamid’s tailor shop. 

Sasha has been watching the moving proceedings for over a week, having the perfect vantage point from the counter of the florist’s shop she helps run - directly across the street. If Zolf notices her distraction, he doesn’t comment. He handles most of the client-facing conversations anyway, being better than her at cordial communication (though not by much).

She’s fairly certain it’s a tattoo parlor, though she’s never seen a proper one. The one where she grew up had closed long before she was born - the sign on the building falling off and all of the windows boarded over - and the town where she went to high school was too hoity-toity to have such an establishment. She’s watched people moving large chairs and a couple beds, so it’s a tattoo parlor or a spa, but it’s definitely not a spa because she’s seen fancy-ass spas (Eldarion  _ loved _ fancy-ass spas) and none of  _ them _ would be run by the tall, black, heavily-tattooed woman Sasha sees sign for deliveries and check things off a clipboard list when people move equipment in.

Not that she’s looking.

She’s just… very noticeable, is all, and not all of it is the height. She dresses almost exclusively in pinks - ranging from soft pastels to rich jewel tones; sometimes florals, sometimes large block prints - usually cut to show off her arms and her back. Sasha has watched her effortlessly help the movers lift boxes, even from a distance noticing the way the muscles move and shift the designs, vibrant on her dark skin. 

Okay, maybe she  _ is  _ looking. Just a bit.

The sign that has been leaning on the side of the building, waiting to be put up, says “Aphrodite’s Blessing.” It’s not what Sasha would expect a tattoo parlor to be called, but this block is full of “New-Age-y Nonsense” as Zolf calls it (with no real vitriol) so she supposes this is par for the course. The sign is pink as well, with beautifully painted roses and Sasha feels like she should dislike it on principle, but there’s a worn quality to it that speaks of pride and painstaking care put into it and those are things she can respect.

She’s picking at a roll of receipt tape, distracted in the middle of setting up the register for the day. She’s taking more time than she usually does - her eyes continuously drifting to the window and what’s outside it - and she’s starting to get annoyed at herself. Being… interested in the across the street move is all well and good but she’s not usually so spaced-out. 

Just as she’s begun to put a concentrated effort back into her set-up routine, there’s a knock on the large display window and Sasha looks up again, not surprised to see the owner of neighboring pharmacy, Cel, grinning. Their hands are full of three little plastic cups Sasha already knows has espresso shots that they had prepared. She pushes away from the counter to unlock the door long enough to let them in.

“Good morning, Miss Sasha!” Cel says, as cheerful at half past six am as they are at 11 at night.

“Mornin’ Cel.” 

Cel had moved into the corner drugstore a little less than a year after Sasha had started working for Zolf and they had brought espresso shots as a hello after they had noticed how early he started his day. It was a nice gesture, and Cel was energetic and able to keep a conversation going when the other two people involved were half-asleep still and so they came back the next morning, and the morning after that, until it was a routine Sasha would miss terribly if it ever stopped.

Presently, they set the shots on the counter, then look around with a quizzical frown. “Is Zolf not in?”

“Truck came this morning so he’s updating inventory in back.” She smirks. “He’s always in, you know that.”

“Dunno. Thought he might have taken a vacation for the first time in his life.”

“ _ Hah! _ ” She tilts her head toward the curtain that separates the front of the shop from the supplies. “Boss! Breakfast!”

Cel rolls their eyes. “Espresso is not breakfast. Honestly, if you need me to bring muffins or something I can- Ah! Good morning, Mr. Smith!”

Zolf lets the curtain fall behind him, joining his assistant and their next-door-shop-neighbor. “Good morning, Celiquillithon,” he says with the slightest emphasis and an eyebrow raise. 

Far as Sasha can tell, Zolf hadn’t much liked getting called “Mr. Smith” and had tried to combat it by calling Cel the long version of their name in return. Problem is, far as Sasha can tell, Cel very much likes being called “Celiquilithon” - particularly by Zolf - and if anything they now call him “Mr. Smith”  _ more _ . Sasha isn’t sure if what goes on between them could be called flirting but it is certainly something.

Cel beams at him, passing the shots to him and Sasha before lifting their own. “And to all a good day,” they say cheerfully. Sasha downs her shot in time with the two of them - a little bitter, just how she likes it - and grins at Cel when she sets the empty cup down, already feeling more alert. She sometimes thinks Cel puts more than just espresso, milk and a bit of sugar into the shot but Cel’s very good about not giving friends anything they haven’t given informed consent to.

The sound of a car door across the street catches her attention, and she looks around Cel’s tall, willowy form to get a look. It’s her, the tattoo parlor owner - as far as she can determine. She’s wearing a wide-brimmed hat that covers her shaved head but Sasha recognizes her from height alone. Even from a distance she can tell the woman is taller than Cel, with broad shoulders being proudly shown off - today in a halter-top dress, white with large pink flowers and a bright sash. There’s a rose visible on the center of her back, the largest visible tattoo on her. Sasha thinks about the roses in the florist shop - if this woman would like them -

“Close your mouth, Sash; you’re gonna catch flies,” Zolf says dryly. Sasha’s attention snaps back to find both Zolf and Cel watching her with eerily similar expressions. Similar  _ knowing  _ expressions. 

Sasha bristles, never liking when she feels seen - even by people she likes. She collects the plastic cups with more force than necessary. “Whatever,  _ dad _ .”

Zolf’s face pinches as though he’s bitten into something sour while Cel giggles madly. “Stop.”

Sasha’s lips twitch. “You stop saying top-tier dad bullshit and I will.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t blame you,” Cel adds, their smile softening. “Even if you’re taking a purely aesthetic perspective, Azu is quite striking.”

Sasha nearly drops the cups. “You- wait, do you know her?”

“Who do you think got her over here?” Cel says proudly. “I told her about the vacancy a month ago; this really is a much better space for her and not only because it means I’ll be able to drop in more often for a walk-in when inspiration strikes.”

Sasha glances sidelong at Cel. She’s never noticed any tattoos on them, but then she’s never seen Cel out of their signature duster jacket, no matter the weather.

Zolf makes a sound that’s impressed but not surprised. “Has she done all of yours?”

_ He’s  _ seen their tattoos, then. Sasha chooses not to think about that.

“Only the last two. I only crossed paths with her a year and a half ago - but she’s an angel and her work is incredible.” They glance at Sasha. “I feel we would have talked about this already, but have you got any?”

Sasha shakes her head. Between being too young - and hardly in a position to afford that sort of thing regardless - to not being allowed anything unsavory by Eldarion’s sky-high standards… to now, where it simply hadn’t yet crossed her mind as something she could just  _ have _ . Her eyes drift back toward the window, to the shop that’s nearly ready to open. 

She feels Cel’s eyes on her and has the uncanny feeling of being seen yet again. But when they speak, their tone is still playful. “I’m getting dinner with her tonight, you know,” they say slowly. “I think I could find a way to learn her favorite flower…”

“I- wh- I mean, why would- what would I do with that?” Sasha stammers, definitely not thinking about roses.

They raise their eyebrows, their expression the picture of innocence. “I just think a homemade bouquet would be the loveliest ‘welcome’ gift, don’t you? I could even leave it for you, if you want to keep things anonymous for now.” 

“Or, you know - just a suggestion- you could talk to her?” Zolf points out dryly.

Cel heaves a sigh. “You know, Mr. Smith, for someone so invested in those- um-  _ historical _ novels of yours, you really have no concept of romance.”

Zolf looks at them and simply raises an eyebrow, which says more than any response would. 

Now doubly embarrassed, Sasha clears her throat. “Right, okay, um. Enough of _that_.” She’s not sure what  _ that  _ is but Cel breaks into giggles and she blushes. “Don’t you open in, like, 20 minutes?” She adds, her voice going a bit sharp.

“Alright, alright! I’m going, I’m going!” Cel says, their sing-song voice full of mischief and amusement. “... Did you want to know about the flowers?”

“ _ Cel! _ ”

“Alright!” They say again, laughing as the door closes behind them. 

There’s a beat of silence. “Well,” Zolf begins.

“Nope. Not a word,” Sasha says sharply, finally taking the cups to the back room to throw away.

“No- Sash- I wasn’t going to-” He trails off, and Sasha can hear his sigh. It centers her a little, and she takes a moment to breathe in the smell of the fresh cut flowers around her and lets her face cool down.

Once she has some measure of control she glances around at the fresh inventory, and does in fact wonder, what her new neighbor - _Azu_ \- might like.

  
  



	2. Friends

Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan might be the most polite neighbor Azu has ever had.

It circles back around to where she’s a little worried that he actually hates her and is being incredibly passive aggressive about it. However, when she reluctantly brings this up to Cel over dinner, they laugh uproariously - garnering looks from the tables next to them - but their voice is gentle when they say, “No, honey; that’s just how Hamid is.” 

Embarrassment aside, Azu is glad for the confirmation. There was only so much being asked if she needed help by someone well over a foot shorter than her that she could handle without thinking there was something else happening. 

When he asks the next day, coming in late in the morning with coffee, as seems to be his way, Azu sets down her clipboard. “I think I’m alright,” she says kindly. “But maybe we can grab lunch later?”

She’s rewarded with the widest grin she’s ever seen. 

There’s a cafe not a block away. Hamid tells her in a conspiratorial whisper as they get their food to sit outside that the gentleman who took their order actually owns not only the cafe, but several other buildings in this neighborhood. 

He laughs at Azu’s dumbfounded expression. “Yeah, I know; you wouldn’t know it talking to him. Wilde’s good at playing that stuff off.”

“But not our building, right?” 

“Oh, no. That’s been in my family since well before he started buying property this way.” Hamid says this casually and Azu nearly spits out her coffee. “What?”

“I- I just didn’t realize you were my landlord,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. 

“Oh, I’m not,” Hamid says, almost too quickly. “My sister Saira is - and she’s _my_ landlord, too. I didn’t- didn’t get this handed to me.” 

Azu flushes. “I didn’t mean-”

He shakes his head rapidly. “No, no. I know. Sorry, just used to people hearing my family name and thinking it means I don’t have to, you know, pay for anything. I’ve even considered moving shop but, family or no, I like it here too much.” 

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t move,” she says earnestly. “You seem like a good neighbor.”

Hamid beams. “Thank you - you as well. Even if it means some days I might deal with the sounds of people who didn’t expect tattoos to hurt quite so much.”

Azu laughs. “There’s not as much of that as you might think. I try to warn people as much as I can, and most people who are looking at the more painful areas do their research.” That wasn’t to say it never happened, and in spite of everything Azu always felt a little bad about it. 

“I know,” Hamid says again, smiling in a way that’s both teasing and understanding. Azu decides that she likes him quite a bit. 

Something about that understanding tone makes her ask, “Do  _ you  _ have any tattoos?”

His smile falters for a moment, but when it comes back it’s gentle. He rolls up his sleeve a bit to show a small string of music notes on the inside of his wrist. “For my sister, Aziza,” he says, the quiet tone answering any question Azu might have had about her.

She hesitates, then reaches out and puts a hand over his. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

She pulls her hand away and for a few minutes they sit together in comfortable silence. The sounds of an argument across the street catches Azu’s attention, and when she glances that way she nearly chokes on her coffee again.

It’s her. The florist from across the street that Azu keeps catching sight of. She only catches her in glimpses - the person who sets up the sign outside before the shop opens, alongside a few barrels of freshly cut flowers and bouquets. Someone had ordered for a large event earlier in the week and Azu had lost a good half hour of set up watching her help move several gorgeous arrangements and centerpieces into a truck out front. 

Azu isn’t sure what about the girl keeps catching her attention: she’s incredibly unassuming, and usually comes and goes in flashes too short to get a proper perception. What Azu notices is a petite young woman with short cropped black hair stark against pale skin - the contrast heightened further by what appears to be an entirely black wardrobe. She has a burn scar on her jaw, running down her neck and Azu wants to ask about it. Wants to ask about her. 

Presently, she looks exasperated, even from a distance, having stopped trying to get a word in while the man beside her rants. He’s shorter than her, nearly as short as Hamid from the looks of it. Maybe shorter; it’s hard to tell with the chunky combat boots he’s wearing. He’s dressed in a similar monochrome palette, outside of the green beanie he wears that accentuates rather large ears.

Hamid laughs suddenly, and Azu realizes he’s followed her gaze. “Yeah, that’s something you’ll get used to, too. Griz can get, um, passionate? About certain topics, and I don’t think he has volume control.” He grins. “And that’s coming from _me_.”

Azu relaxes, glad to see the righteous anger on display isn’t directed at the girl. 

“Poor Sasha gets the brunt of it most of the time,” Hamid continues, as if sensing the thought. “But she also knows how to deal with him better than most.” 

Sasha.  _ Sasha _ . “Oh- are they…?” She begins, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

Hamid makes a face. “Oh god no! He’s her brother!” Azu’s eyebrows raise as she glances at the pair, walking toward the florists - Azu can see plastic cups in both their hands, coming from a lunch like she and Hamid are on. They don’t look alike at all, but she recognizes that relationship now that it’s been pointed out. 

“Adopted brother,” Hamid is clarifying. “Or… foster brother? I’m not sure how that works; I don’t think they met until they were both adults, or nearly anyway. Griz tried to explain it to me once and I don’t think I really… got it. But Sasha just calls him her brother, so I go with that.”

In spite of herself, Azu feels herself relax more. “I see,” she says, still trying for neutrality.

She fails; Hamid’s eyebrows raise expressively. “Azu,” he says slowly, teasingly. “Not here a week and you’ve got a crush?”

‘I- I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she splutters, feeling her face going very hot. “That wouldn’t be- I haven’t even spoken to- I wouldn’t-”

Hamid is laughing again, but there is no cruelty in it - even if Azu wants to bury her face in her hands and hide. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry. I’ll drop it if it makes you uncomfortable. It’s just- cute? Can I say that?”

Azu clutches her burning cheeks, but no longer feels quite so mortified. “Doesn’t feel cute,” she mutters, and watches Hamid bite his fist to keep from bursting into a fresh round of laughter. She can’t really blame him for that, and slowly smiles. “Glad I can entertain you, though.”

“Sorry,” he says again, still grinning. “You should talk to her, though. Sasha’s- she’s a good person. It’d be nice if she had… someone.”

Azu flushes again, and has to restrain herself from looking across the street again; the siblings have passed her field of vision and she’s not turning around to look. She’s not. Her smile at Hamid goes a bit lopsided. “You know, Cel said everyone here was friendly, but I think that might have been an understatement. I’m not - not really used to it; you barely know me.”

“I know that you seem kind and hardworking and that you love what you do,” Hamid says with surprising promptness. “Doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”

It always seemed like it did, though. No matter how easy things started, something always complicated it. She’d never thought she’d reach a point where she chose pursuing her career over continuing a romantic relationship, never expected to feel like her skill had… surpassed working with Fairhands after nearly two years. These were choices that were ultimately good for her, but they came with emotions that complicated her outlook, preventing her from accepting the happiness she _did_ have.

“I suppose,” she says, quieter than she intended.

This time Hamid reaches out to rest a hand on hers. “I’m not saying go declare your undying feelings for Sasha this second.” Azu splutters and little and his grin returns. “I just think you two should talk sometime. And this place isn’t going anywhere,” he adds, waving a hand at the coffee shop. 

“I will… think about it. Thank you, Hamid.” 

“Anytime,” he says and she believes him wholeheartedly.

They walk the short distance back to their shared building and Azu lets her eyes drift back to the florist shop just as the door swings open and the girl - _Sasha_ \- comes out, her arms full of a fresh batch of cut flowers for one of the outdoor barrels. She drops them into their container, absently arranging them before she stills - clearly sensing eyes on her.

Azu doesn’t have time to look away before their eyes meet across the quiet street. Distantly she hears the door closing behind her and knows Hamid has gone inside, leaving her to face this alone. Feeling her cheeks burn, she raises a hand in an awkward wave and what she hopes is a welcoming smile. 

Sasha straightens, staring. After a second that feels like an eternity, she returns the wave. “Um. HI!” She calls. 

“Hello!” Azu answers.

Sasha nods, as if congratulating them both on completing a scene. With no more interaction than that, she disappears back inside in what is almost a blink. 

Azu mirrors her, quickly entering her shop - and ignoring Hamid’s laughter as it echoes from upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for more ladies being awkward!!


	3. Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is shorter than expected but I really wanted to get more of this story out there because it's been a month lol  
> hope you enjoy!

“I don’t want to hear it,” Sasha says, letting the door close behind her hard - the little bell nearly deafening her with how hard it rings. She’s red-faced, she just knows it. It’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, all they’d said to each other was hi, and Sasha’s heart is stuttering in her chest and she’s already thinking of a hundred things she’d done wrong, or should have done instead, or-

“Sasha, I have said exactly zero things about this since it started,” Zolf points out from the counter. 

“Since what started?” She says wildly. “Nothing has started. Nothing is happening at all, not in the slightest. Who said anything at all about anything happening.”

“Sasha.”

“Right.” 

Her boss smiles that smile that’s really only visible in his eyes but she relaxes. “I’m not gonna… pry. Not my place. You’re an adult.” His smile becomes a proper, lopsided grin. “Besides, I doubt I’m someone you’re going to want to take romantic advice from.”

“Dunno,” Sasha says with a shrug. “You and Cel seem to be doing alright.”

Zolf makes a choked noise, which he tries to cover up with a cough. She notices a sudden flush to his cheeks. “I- uh- what?”

Sasha narrows her eyes. “Wait- you mean you two… aren’t?” His face reddens further. “At all? Geez, okay, you’re right; you’re apparently terrible at this.”

“Hey, if I’m not commenting on your love life you don’t get to comment on mine,” he grumbles, and Sasha laughs. “And here I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me when I went across the street later.”

Her heart leaps even as her expression pinches up. “That’s not very “not-interfering” of you.”

“I said  _ not commenting _ \- and that’s not what it’s about. I’m going for myself.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You’re gonna get a tattoo?” she asks, more incredulous than is really warranted. Zolf’s had quite the life, from the short stories she’s been able to get him to tell, usually over a couple after-work drinks, not even limited to how he lost both of his legs (in completely separate and unconnected accidents, if he is to be believed). A tattoo is far from the edgiest thing that’s happened to him.

“Might, if I like the place enough,” he says. “But I’m more looking to see if she can do… removals.”

Sasha’s eyebrows go even higher, and before she can ask, he rolls up his sleeve until a small trident is visible on his bicep. The lines are dark, thick and harsh. It looks old. It looks angry. It doesn’t suit him at all. 

Sasha glances at him hesitantly. “Is that from your- from the… cult thing you used to be in?”

To her relief, his lips twitch a little. “Gang, not cult.”

“Same thing,” Sasha says.

He snorts, rolling the sleeve back down again. “You’re the one who spent her teen years in a cult, not me.”

“It was a  _ prep school _ .”

“Same thing,” he says dryly. 

She echoes his snort, waving him off and going to rearrange one of the window displays.

Privately, she thinks he’s right and he knows it. She’d hated few things as much as she’d hated the school Eldarion had sent her to. In fact, she really hated only  _ one _ thing more than that, and that was Barrett - a fact Eldarion would remind her of on occasions when Sasha complained a little too loudly or a little too publicly. It was never a threat, per se, but it shut her up all the same. 

She had met Grizzop when she was 17, a year shy of aging out of the system. A child of foster care himself, although his experience was far more positive, meant he understood a lot of her anxieties and trauma in a way no one else would. He helped her find a job and a place to stay so she was ready and able to leave Eldarion the second she was legally able to. 

There would always be certain topics where they’d simply never get each other, but at the end of the day Sasha knew Grizzop had her back, and his friendship meant the world to her. 

She found Zolf’s flower shop not long after that. She’d been running errands and thought she’d seen Barrett, for the first time in nearly a decade, and in her panicked state had ducked into the building nearest her. That building had been a florist’s, in the process of closing for the evening. The owner’s resting scowl immediately turned to clear and obvious concern as he took in her pale face and how she was shaking. 

He had ushered her to the backroom, the smell of clean water and fresh flowers soothing her immediately, and asked if she was in trouble, if she needed him to call someone. Sasha had declined, simply needing to catch her breath and calm herself. Zolf didn’t ask anymore questions, didn’t say much else. But he didn’t leave either. 

She came by later that week to thank him and that was when she noticed a  _ help wanted _ in his window. The rest, as they say, is history.

“You okay, Sash?” Zolf asks presently and Sasha realizes she’s zoned out.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Did you say something?”

“No, no,” he says. He pauses. “ _ Did  _ you want to come with me this afternoon?”

Instinctively, Sasha’s eyes are drawn to the tattoo parlor across the street. She can’t see Azu inside, but she still remembers her shy smile and her deep, melodious voice calling ‘ _Hello_ ’ to her. She’s starting to blush again. They’ve said two words to each other, she shouldn’t be this flustered. 

“I- why- what would I-”

Zolf sighs, cutting her off before she can start a rambling dismissal. “I don’t mean it like that. You just- you looked interested when Cel mentioned tattoos earlier. Thought you might like to scope it out.”

Well that’s an entirely different can of worms, but she can’t deny he’s right; she has been thinking about it ever since Cel brought it up. “I- I don’t know what I’d get- if I want-”

“Sasha, that’s the point of scoping something out.” Sasha continues to grumble noncommittal and Zolf shakes his head. “I thought you’d rather go with someone than on your own.”

He’s got her there. 

She thinks it over for much of the afternoon - not whether she wants to go, but what kind of tattoo she’d get. The first thing that comes to mind is an axe- Grizzop took her axe throwing early in their acquaintance, citing it as an excellent way to let out aggression. She hadn’t been great at it - axes were unwieldy - but he’d been right. She got into knives from there but she has so many favorite knives she’d never be able to choose.

Sasha glances sidelong at her boss and friend; there's a tension in his shoulders as he shifts behind the counter, and she realizes that his comment about ‘going alone’ might have extended to him. “Alright,” she says at last. “Yeah, I’ll check it out.”

Zolf smiles, almost imperceptibly relaxing, and it makes her feel better about her decision. 

They continue the afternoon together in a silence that they’re both used to, comfortable and familiar. By the time they’re closing up shop Sasha is trying not to vibrate with nerves, looking everywhere but out the shop window, trying to think of anything but Azu and her tattoo parlor and what is she going to say to her? Should she say anything? She’s just going to be moral support for Zolf, and ask about tattoos but she doesn’t even know what to ask about tattoos. Zolf can ask all the questions, but then it will feel like she doesn’t want to be there and she doesn’t want Azu to think that and-

Zolf laughs suddenly, startling Sasha out of her thoughts. She looks over at him to find him smiling at his phone in a way that says  _ text from Cel _ . “What’d they say then?”

He doesn’t twig her teasing tone. “Cel says to tell you that Azu likes pink roses. Do with that what you wish.” 

She glares. “I am not- I am not doing anything with that. You can go ahead and tell them that.”

“Hey, _they_ never promised to stay out of your love life.”

“I don’t have a love life,” she says firmly. Zolf raises his eyebrows as he hangs up his apron for the day and they head for the door. “And _neither_ of you get to comment on that until you actually tell each other how you feel.”

That shuts him right up, his cheeks flushing a deep red and Sasha finds herself grinning as they cross the street to the Aphrodite’s Blessing Tattoo Parlor. 


	4. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise this is now more than the 4 chapters that I planned because boy this conversation went directions I hadn't planned. Still really happy with it! Enjoy!

Azu is cleaning off the second of two interlocking gears over Cel’s heart when she hears the door swing open. She curses, lifting the cloth.

“You said they wouldn’t come for another hour,” she accuses in a tight whisper. She was going to have time! Time to clean up and think of what to say!

Cel looks somewhere between affronted and delighted. “She shouldn’t be here yet. The florist only closes early on Thursdays.”

Azu closes her eyes, gives a quick prayer for strength. She tapes up the gauze over the tattoo. “Cel. It is thursday.” 

“Oh. Well, there you have it.” Cel’s grin falls suddenly. “Wait. Did you say  _ they _ ?”

“Um, hello?” a gruff male voice calls. Cel squeaks. “Wait. Cel?”

Confused, Azu stands. As predicted, from what Cel had been telling her all afternoon, there is Sasha. Dressed as dark as ever, her black hair cut short and choppy, the lines of her leather jacket as sharp as her cheekbones. She’s well over a head shorter than Azu but she would still find her intimidating if it weren’t for the way she’s wringing her hands and not quite meeting her eye.

However, to her - and apparently Cel’s - surprise, Sasha brought someone with her. A man who looks a bit like someone manifested the stereotype of an old retired sailor: he’s in a thin, knit sweater with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing off the edges of tattoos, and his white hair looks like it's constantly a little windswept and his beard is in a strong braid in spite of not looking that old.

“Hello,” Azu says, coming over to the counter, trying for ‘polite’ and not ‘nervous wreck’. “I’m sorry. I was, um, just wrapping up with a client. I- I don’t have anyone taking appointments yet - do you mind if you sit here a minute while I-”

“No need,” Cel says quickly, having hopped to their feet. Their cheeks are a little pink, a rare sight. “You know me, Azu. Old hat at the aftercare- the after-tattoo care… stuff. Got all the accoutrements at home. I’ll let you… take care of your lovely guests.”

They’re moving as they babble, grinning at Sasha and  _ not looking _ at the gentleman beside her until they’re starting to move past him toward the door.

“Uh, Cel,” he says, also not looking at them as he speaks. “You gonna leave your shirt here?”

Cel squeaks again, the light pink becoming a glowing red and they run back to where they had thrown their t-shirt over another chair. They continue to speak as they pull it on, but so quickly that Azu doesn’t think anyone can actually understand what they’re saying outside of a high-pitched “Right! Bye!” before they disappear out the door.

The remaining three people share a look of complete accord and Azu feels herself relax a little. She knows that Cel knows Sasha, but seeing the expression of stunned fondness in her eye, it’s clear that Sasha knows them just as well. Azu likes Cel quite a bit and anyone who likes them is good.

She glances back over her shoulder and winces. “They left their jacket.”

“I’ve got it,” the man says. He glances sidelong at Sasha and there is a bit of a blush to his cheeks, too. “Gotta talk to them about somethin anyway.” Sasha raises her eyebrows and seems to be biting down a grin.

Azu hands over the jacket, still a little bemused, and the man offers her a smile that makes him look suddenly younger and kinder. “Zolf Smith, by the way,” he says, folding the jacket over his arm and shaking her hand. “I’ll- um, I’ll be back. Probably.”

Sasha nudges him on the way out. “Go get ‘em, boss.” He grumbles something that makes her laugh and leaves to follow Cel.

Sasha’s laugh tapers off as the two women quickly realize that they are now alone in the parlor together. She clears her throat and rubs the back of her neck. “Shit,” she mumbles. “You don’t think they did that on purpose, do you?”

Azu blinks, her heart skipping a little. “I don’t think I understand what… that was,” she says at last, which is the truth. 

To her relief, Sasha smiles again. “They’re a whole… thing. Well, not really a thing yet, but like obviously still a thing - and, you know, probably officially a thing in, like, ten minutes.”

“Oh- oh, _Smith_! Mr. Smith! Yeah, Cel’s talked about him before and I  had  wondered sometimes.”

She snorts. “Yeah, they’re hopeless.”

“Not entirely, it looks like,” Azu says, smiling. She’ll have to ask Cel for more information about that Mr. Smith they were always on about now that she actually understands what’s going on. “So,” she adds. “He’s your boss, then?”

Sasha nods, fidgeting with her hands again. “Yeah. He’s… he’s a good guy.” She glances behind her toward the door. “He’s the one who wants- who was going to talk to you about this stuff.” 

“Oh,” Azu says, unsure how to feel about that. “Did, um ,did he tell you what he was looking for?”

“Yeah, something about… like, removing a tattoo? Is that- is that a thing that you can do?”

Azu’s stomach twists. “Oh- um, well, I- it’s a very specialized thing, actually, and you would need to see an aesthetician for that and I… that’s not- I could put you in contact with one. I’m sorry.” She can feel her face burning by the time she’s finished that mangled explanation. She hasn’t felt this guilty about leaving Eren in weeks. 

Sasha just shakes her head. “Oh I- I meant, is that a thing people can do at all? Sorry, I don’t know tattoos much and I mean, they’re permanent, right? So- like, Zolf made it sound like it’s a thing people can do to remove them but…” She trails off into a mumble.

Azu unravels that for a second and then attempts a smile. She can feel it quivering a little. “Yeah, you can get tattoos removed. It’s a laser treatment which is why you need someone- someone trained in it. Like I said, I know someone I can put him in contact with when he returns.”

“Oh," Sasha says, without inflection. "Who?”

Azu begins to bristle a little but after a second of studying Sasha realizes she really does mean it in genuine curiosity. “My- well, my old boss. Eren, he runs the Fairhands studio just a little bit south of here.” She wrings a spare cloth that was tucked in her belt. “He- his studio deals a lot more with aesthetic surgery, honestly. I guess I could have gone that route as well…”

“But you didn’t want to?”

She laughs, soft and shy. “I did when I first joined up. But… I realized I really liked the tattooing side of things. There’s more… creativity, you know? You get to put personality into what you’re doing; you get to learn about what people like, what’s important to them, how they choose to express that.” She realizes she’s rambling and cuts off with a small cough. “Tattoos just… called to me, I guess.”

Sasha looks at her, a surprisingly piercing look. Azu has to try not to squirm. “So that’s why you came here? To start something on your own?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure until Cel mentioned there being space. But yes. Essentially.” It had taken a few weeks after that for Azu to finally tell Eren she was leaving and longer still for her to consider that the right thing to do. She had become the best tattoo artist at the Fairhands studio and it felt wrong to leave them in want of another but it just hadn’t been her place anymore.

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Sasha says. Then her pale face colors. “I just mean, it’s cool how you, like, chose to do that. I guess.” 

“Thank you.” Azu can feel that her face is still warm but her smile is coming naturally now. “I’m sorry I can’t help your boss, though.

“Oh, well, Zolf was thinking he might want another tattoo as well, so he’ll still want to talk to you, I think,” Sasha says. There’s a short pause before she adds. “I’m, uh, Sasha. By the way.”

“Oh! Hello- I’m Azu.” She tucks away the cloth and shakes Sasha’s hand. 

Sasha nods, then glances at the cloth, stained with bright colors. “So, um, how’s that all work?”

“Tattoos?”

She shifts, looking awkward. “Yeah. Like I said, don’t know much about them but I think they’re… neat.”

Azu laughs. “So do I.” She gestures to the flowering tree that winds up her left arm. 

“How many do you have?”

“About a dozen. Some of them are pretty big like this one, but I have a few smaller ones, too.” She grins. “It’s a bit of a bug, I’ve found. Once you get one you’ll come back for more.”

Sasha chews on her lip. “And you’ve never regretted any? Even if they’re permanent?”

Azu considers this, then after a moment’s hesitation gestures for Sasha to come back and sit down. It’s a strange conversation they’re having, not at all like how Azu had expected or hoped or feared. It was just a nice conversation with someone who was interesting and lovely, and she already never wanted it to end. 

“I haven’t,” she says after the two of them have sat. “But there are tattoos that were very important to me for a time but are now… not  _ less _ important, but important because they remind me of who I was when I got it. I mean, I don’t recommend getting the name of your most recent boyfriend or anything-”

“That wouldn’t be a problem,” Sasha says, her voice exceptionally dry. Azu’s heart does a little flip-flop. 

“So, was there anything you  _ were _ interested in- or- or thinking about?” She adds. “If Mr. Smith is going to be gone for… a bit, we could talk about, um, you.”

Sasha is silent for a few seconds, and while Azu can see a blush still on her cheeks, she seems to be considering this question seriously. “I… collect daggers,” she says finally.

Azu blinks, not expecting that - although, looking at Sasha, she’s not sure why she hadn’t expected that. “Okay,” is all she manages to say, and tries not to kick herself for not having a better reaction. 

Sasha, however, doesn’t think anything of it. “I have fourteen of 'em. They’re, uh, they’re all important to me. For different reasons." She frowns a quizzical sort of frown. "Would- is fourteen first tattoos a thing?”

Azu laughs in spite of herself. “What I’ll say is you don’t have to start small, if you don’t want.” She turns, pulling down the back of her shirt to show the rose there, the tattoo still most precious to her. “This was my first, after all.” 

Turning back to face Sasha, she sees that she looks a little flushed and quickly clears her throat. “I could do some sketches, to see how it would look.” Sasha blushes darker, her eyes a little wide. Azu realizes she’s getting quite a bit ahead of herself. “I mean, if you’re interested. And it can be a month from now or- or a year from now. Whenever you’re ready.”

Sasha is silent again for several seconds, looking out the window. There’s still no sign of Mr. Smith, which Azu thinks is probably a good sign for that whole deal. "“Yeah," Sasha says, smiling at last. "Can- Can I tell you about them? The daggers, I mean.”

“Please,” Azu says earnestly. Sasha’s smile grows, and together they spend the afternoon making plans.

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for Azu as she has feelings about moving shop, making friends, and noticing a florist's assistant (who is used to going unnoticed)


End file.
